


Intervention of the Fates

by Calacious



Series: Trope: Sharing a Bed [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 06:01:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16011758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calacious/pseuds/Calacious
Summary: Severus has been trying to get Harry to sleep for hours, and when he finally does manage to coax the ailing little boy to sleep, Harry refuses to leave his arms. James proposes that they bring Harry to their bed...just this once. A slice of life fic set in the Mama Severus universe.





	Intervention of the Fates

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of this work of fiction, and no profit is being made through the writing of this, monetary or otherwise.
> 
> A/N: Written for the forum, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Fanfiction Writing Month: September (word count, 1080); for the Writing Club Trope of the Month, Sharing is Caring, Trope: Sharing a Bed, Prompt #5. Item: Blanket; Insane House Challenge 675: Dialogue: "Have I told you today how much I love you? If I have, let me tell you again." and Assignment #5: Charms: Dark Charms Task #5:Entomorphis: Write about someone feeling small. Alt. write a kidfic

Harry’s sniffling, his cheeks are red with fever, dark eyelashes fluttering against them. Even though Harry’s eyes are closed, Severus continues to rock the little boy and sing the final chords of the boy’s favorite lullaby. 

“Have I told you today how much I love you? If I have, let me tell you again," James says, chin resting on Severus’ shoulder as he looks down at their son, Harry James Tobias Potter-Prince. 

“Of the two of us, it’s you who seem to have the magic touch where Harry’s concerned,” James adds when Severus merely rolls his eyes at James’ earlier statement.

It had been a long day at work for him, and when he’d gotten home, Harry had been wailing. Severus had looked completely wrecked, and even paler than usual as he bounced and rocked the squalling child. _ ‘Fever,’  _ he’d mouthed when James had asked. James had offered to help, but Harry had shied away from him, wanting Severus. 

“He has your lung capacity,” Severus says, scowling down at the now sleeping three year old. Harry had been inconsolable, crying for hours before he’d finally cried himself out in his ‘Mama’ Severus’ lap. An appellation that James adored and Severus pretended (mostly) to abhor. 

Harry’s clutching his  yellow blankie -- a gift from his surrogate mother, Lily, and her girlfriend, Lucinda -- tight in one of his chubby fists, the thumb of his other hand is tucked secure in his mouth. It’s a habit that they’ll need to break him of one of these days. Today, James decides, after taking a look at his exhausted husband and son, is not that day.

When Severus moves, Harry stirs, turning his tired, red rimmed, green eyes up at Severus. His bottom lip trembles and he mumbles something that neither of his fathers can make out, but James gets the gist of it. Harry does not want to leave the comfort of Severus’ arms. James can’t blame him. There are times, in the wee hours of the morning before work, that he, too, doesn’t want to leave the comfort and warmth of Severus’ arms either. 

“You should get some sleep,” Severus says, resigned to sitting up with their son, rocking the fussy child for the rest of the night.

James kisses Severus on the cheek and pulls him to his feet. Harry stirs and frowns at them, but doesn’t cry out and settles against Severus’ chest when the man kisses him on the forehead and murmurs the lyrics of a lullaby into his ear. Harry’s lips twitch into a smile -- the first one that has graced his lips since James got home from work.

“You should, too,” James says, guiding Severus to their room. “Harry can sleep with us tonight.”

“We shouldn’t --”

“I don’t care what some old fuddy duddy book writer has to say about toddlers sharing beds with their parents,” James says, cutting off Severus’ protest and pushing him down on the bed. “It’s not going to stunt his growth, or give him a complex, and we are not going to accidentally smother him in our sleep.”

Severus’ eyes are almost as red as Harry’s, and the man looks more exhausted than James has seen him in a very long time. At least not since the year and a half that he’d spent spying on Voldemort for The Order of the Phoenix shortly after Harry had been born. The threat to their son’s life (and the lives of other boys who’d been born around the same time their son had) had been far too great a risk for Severus to ignore when he’d learned of it, and he’d stayed under cover far longer than James would have liked. It was nice to have Severus out of harm’s way now that the war was over and Voldemort was defeated.

“Sleep,” James coaxes, once he’s got Severus and Harry -- his yellow blankie clutched to his chest like a teddy bear -- tucked into bed beside him. 

Severus blinks a few times before his eyes close as he loses the battle to stay awake. James sits up a while longer, watches Severus and Harry -- leg flung over Severus’ middle; the hand not entwined with the blankie clinging to Severus’ Muggle tee-shirt (some band from the 70’s that James has never heard of); his cheek, ruddy with fever, resting on Severus’ chest -- sleep.

They’re beautiful in sleep -- Severus’ worry lines smoothed out in slumber; no evidence of pain on Harry’s cherubic face. James could watch them for hours. He knows that Severus would call it creepy.

He chuckles softly as he pictures Severus’ patented scowl turned on him were he to know that James was watching him sleep, and wonders at the Fates that conspired to bring him and Severus together. He’s grateful for their intervention, no matter how much he’d hated and bemoaned it at the time. The benevolent machinations of Fate are lost on teenagers.

Had it not been for a rainy day detention served under the watchful eye of Professor McGonagall during their fifth year, James would never have gotten to know Severus outside of the scowls and insults that they passed back and forth on the school’s grounds. He’d never have learned that, in addition to having a knack for insults, Severus also had a wicked sense of humor and a keen intellect.

Had McGonagall not assigned them a joint project, James might never have fallen in love with the moody, irascible boy who turned out to have a shy, geeky side, in addition to a love of potions and transfiguration (though he was fairly inept at it). He might have continued, along with Sirius, to bully and tease the Slytherin just so he could earn a look from Lily Evans and the esteem of his best friend. 

James traces a scar -- a gift from Voldemort before the malevolent wizard met his end at the end of Dumbledore’s wand -- on Severus’ cheek. It’s thin and silver. It travels from the corner of Severus’ mouth to his hairline. Severus doesn’t talk about it and James doesn’t press the issue. They both have their own scars from the war. Enough to last a lifetime.

“I love you,” James whispers to his slumbering husband and son. 

He kisses Severus’ lips, and Harry’s pudgy cheek, careful not to wake either of them and silently thanks the Fates for their interference in their lives all those years ago. 


End file.
